


March

by naiad (iamnaiad)



Category: NSYNC
Genre: Crack, M/M, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-15
Updated: 2010-01-15
Packaged: 2017-10-06 07:33:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/51218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamnaiad/pseuds/naiad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris was pissed, not touched. He didn't want a vacation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	March

Lance was packing. A small carry-on with wheels sat on the bed, empty and waiting to be filled with the clothes he was rolling methodically. His movements were efficient, his body relaxed and a slight smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. Chris leant against the doorframe and watched for a split second before speaking.

"What are you doing?"

"Packing." Lance's tone was dry – a butter wouldn't melt expression plastered over his face.

"I can see that genius. I'll re-phrase. Why the fuck are you packing my clothes?" The smile Lance shot him was devious and a muscle under Chris's left eye spasmed.

"Because we're taking a vacation."

"Who says?" Chris could feel Lance's eyeroll across the room.

"Do I really need to answer that?" Lance glanced up from the black socks he was stuffing into Chris's boots.

"I can't take a vacation just because you say so. The last one I took required a unanimous vote." Chris held up a hand. "Not that I don't love you for thinking of me, but I have things to do." Every word took him a step closer to Lance and the suitcase. "Commitments. Plans…"

Lance grabbed one of Chris's outstretched hands. "Don't even think about touching that bag."

"…that don't involve packing my clothes and leaving the house."

The zip on the bag hummed as Lance whipped it closed. Chris blinked. Lance was quick when he wanted to be.

"You have no choice, Chris. You're coming with me."

"I am not. I'm happy here. Comfortable. Cosy, even. Snug as a bug."

"I don't care, Chris."

"In a rug."

"You're coming with me. Ah." Lance pressed a finger to Chris's lips. "No questions. I've already paid."

Chris plopped onto the bed. He wasn't going anywhere. "No. This is an ambush." It wasn't that he didn't want to go exactly, there was just a principle involved. "JC."

"Knows." Lance sat next to Chris and laid a warm hand on his leg. "Please?"

Chris demonstrated the pout he'd learnt from Justin. "You should have said something. And where the hell am I supposed to be going anyway?"

Lance smiled. "I am saying something, and it's a surprise. And if you say you're not coming once more, I'll tell Justin that you had a crush on Lynn."

"You're a twisted man, Bass."

Lance leant in closer, his breath hot on Chris's ear. "I'll also tell Joey that you thought Briahna looked like an alien and JC that his album was, and I quote, 'Space Invaders in a urinal'."

Chris shuddered. "I take that back. You're not twisted, you're pure evil."

"Mmm, hmm." Lance touched a soft kiss to Chris's cheek. "We leave in half an hour. If you try to hide, I will hunt you down."

Chris watched as Lance picked up the bag and strolled from the room. "Fuck!"

*

Chris sniffed. He scrunched his nose, snuffled a bit and then pushed the air out of his nostrils as hard as he could. The air was stale, recycled and slightly rancid. Somebody was expelling serious garlic and pepperoni drenched body odour.

Straightening in his seat, Chris stretched his back and lifted his chin a little. The seat ahead of Lance was empty, but the one in front of him had a tuft of grey speckled hair poking over the back. A potential culprit. Chris slouched again and tilted to the left. He squinted, trying to determine if the owner of the now visible elbow and hair tuft was responsible for the stink. It was useless – the stench was generic, he needed to get closer.

Chris wriggled forward and pretended to reach for something on the floor, putting his nose as close to the elbow as he dared. With his cheek squished against the wall and his nose resting slightly on the elbow-supporting armrest, Chris sniffed again. Nothing. He sniffed harder. Nothing but a hint of one of those expensive colognes JC sometimes wore. He inhaled deeply, savouring the aroma before sitting back in his seat.

This time The Stink assaulted his nasal passages with intent. He was being suffocated at altitude. Chris exhaled and tried not to breathe back in. Again. He shifted from the left to the right and back. The Stink had to be someone behind them, if he could just check. His fingers twitched and a hand came to rest on his forearm.

"Chris." Lance was clearly amused.

"What?" He was pissed, not touched. He didn't want a vacation.

"You can't sniff everyone. It might show up as a headline."

Chris glared at Lance. "Who cares? I am not spending forever many hours in a confined space with that stench!" He spat the last word with venom. "It's first class, Lance. It's meant to be comfortable – bigger seats, with more leg room, a choice of top quality movies, edible food, and best of all, odour free. We paid…"

Lance coughed and Chris ignored him.

"We paid good money for a luxurious plane ride and they failed to supply gas masks. I'd be well within my rights to find the perpetrator of this crime against nature and air travel and recommend an anti-perspirant." Chris took a breath and wished he hadn't.

"Chris."

"Lance."

"Chris."

"Lance."

They were staring at each other now. Lance had a half grin, half smirk that made Chris want to glare harder. Lance ended the contest and summoned the flight attendant. "JD and Coke, please. Two." He held two fingers up for confirmation.

Chris huffed, jammed on his headphones and pretended to watch a movie.

The attendant reappeared moments after he'd left with a wink that Chris had seen from the corner of his eye. Lance pulled Chris's headphones off before handing him a glass. "Drink this."

"I'm not…"

"Drink, Kirkpatrick."

Chris drained the glass, slammed it on Lance's tray and pointedly returned the headphones to his ears. The wrinkle of his nose was involuntary.

*

When the last dying groan escaped the bad guy's lips, Chris let out a pleased sigh. The Stink had faded and the movie had helped him relax. He turned to Lance. "Are we in India yet?"

"No." Lance didn't look up from his book. "And you know we're not going to India."

"Fine, ignore a perfectly good Simpson's reference. Are we in Australia yet?"

"Chris."

"What?" They're both halfway around the world. Requiring hours and hours and hours of sitting on a plane." Chris drummed his fingers against Lance's arm. "Why the hell are we going to Australia anyway? Dude, we didn't even tour there because it was too far to go."

Lance looked at him, finally. "For the billionth time, it's a surprise – and we didn't tour there because they liked Backstreet better and we were bitter."

"Speak for yourself, and you know I hate surprises. Tell me, Lance." Chris drew Lance's name out as long as he dared. "Tell me, tell me, tell me."

"Chris, I know you've spent time with your sisters lately, but even Taylor doesn't whine as much as you."

"You know you want to tell me."

"I do not. Right now I'm wondering why the hell I thought this was a good idea."

Chris looked at Lance more closely, trying to gauge if the pissed off expression was real. "Because you can't resist this sexy ass and the thought of being separated from it makes you break out in a cold sweat."

"Uh huh. How could I forget." Lance picked up his book again and Chris resumed his tapping on Lance's arm.

*

"Lance, I'm bored." Chris put his head onto Lance's shoulder and fluttered his eyelashes. "Entertain me."

"Lord, have mercy," Lance muttered before peeling back a corner of his eye-mask. "I'm sleeping."

"You promised you'd never lie to me." Chris gasped and turned his head away from Lance. "You've betrayed us. How can I ever trust you now?"

"Have you been watching The Bold and the Beautiful with Justin again?" Lance dropped the eye-mask back into place. "I told you it would rot your brain and turn you into a girl."

"But Lance, we belong together. I can't live without you." Chris rolled his head back to Lance's shoulder. "I don't care that you slept with your sister's cousin's uncle's boyfriend. We'll adopt the baby and raise it together. Just think…"

"Chris."

"…how happy we'd be. The perfect family."

Lance reached out and pinched Chris's nose – something he should not have been able to do blind. Chris squeaked indignantly, but Lance ignored him. "I think a trip to the bathroom might in order."

Chris shook his head, dragging Lance's hand from side to side with him. "Fuck off, Bass." He peeled Lance's fingers from his nose. "I don't need to take a leak, Mom. I'm old enough to know that by the way, been doing it on my own since before you were born."

Flexing his fingers where Chris had pulled at them, Lance just smiled. He pushed the eye-mask back completely and Chris sniggered at the way it rearranged Lance's hair. Then Lance put a hand on his upper thigh. "I don't think you understood me." His fingers flirted with the inner seam and Chris sat still for the first time since they had left the tarmac.

"Uh. You may be right." Chris narrowed his eyes, trying to ignore Lance's wandering fingers. "What am I missing," Chris cleared his throat, "exactly?"

Lance's voice was low, his lips against Chris's ear. "A slow, wet, stunningly executed blow job. Guaranteed to turn your legs to jelly and put you to sleep for fourteen hours."

Chris stood abruptly and tugged the hem of his t-shirt down. He stepped one leg past Lance and bent down as he straddled him. "Two minutes." He caressed Lance's hand as he stood and walked down the aisle. At the bathroom door, he checked his watch.

Two minutes later Chris was sitting on the toilet, ready for action. He had been on the toilet lid with his pants and underwear pushed down, but it was cold and comfort was a requirement. Now they were folded into a cushion. He checked the time again – Lance should arrive soon. Stretching his legs out as far as possible, bent at the knees and touching the door, Chris stroked himself gently with a finger. He kept the touch light, sensual, but not arousing. If Lance wanted him to sleep for the rest of the flight, he was going to have to work for it. Chris closed his eyes and dropped his head back against the wall.

There was movement outside and Chris shifted into an inviting, yet cramped, sprawl. He grinned towards the door and waited. Nothing. Even the noise had stopped. He looked at his watch. Ten minutes. He'd been sitting in this box masquerading as a bathroom for ten minutes. Lance had two minutes before he was a dead man.

Another minute later someone knocked at the door. Chris's cock twitched in anticipation.

"Sir? Is everything all right, sir?" The voice was too feminine to be Lance's awful falsetto.

Chris scrambled to his feet and grabbed for his clothes. "Um. Fine, thanks. Just feeling a bit queasy." He had no pants on.

"I'm sorry, sir, but we have a small queue."

"Sorry, sorry." Chris did up his zipper. "I won't be a moment." He flushed the toilet and ran the tap.

The flight attendant was smiling apologetically as Chris squeezed through the door, but the man with the grey hair smirked, his eyes twinkling. Chris wanted to hit him.

"Can I have a bag, just in case?" His cheeks felt hot. It was Lance's fault.

"Certainly, sir. I'll bring it to your seat."

"Thank you."

Chris walked back, ignoring the tingling at the back of his neck. Lance had the eye-mask back on and was snoring. Chris trod on Lance's foot accidentally on purpose as he climbed back into the window seat. Moments later he was handed a small, plastic bag. He hardly noticed. Leaning over to Lance's ear he hissed, "You're a prick-tease, Bass, and you're going to pay."

*

"I can't believe you did that!"

"I can't believe you let me sit in that bathroom for twenty minutes! You promised." Chris looked at the screen. "Which number did you say for the bags?"

"Five. And I didn't promise anything."

Chris jogged a little to catch up with Lance before he reached the luggage carousel. "Do the words 'slow' and 'wet' sound familiar?" He dropped his voice as the woman next Lance shot them a look. "You left me hanging, dude. You deserved everything you got."

Lance sniggered. "You left yourself hanging, Chris, and you tied my shoelaces together! I thought I was back in grade school."

"It's a timeless classic." Chris watched bags loop around on the conveyor belt. "Lance?"

"Yeah?"

"Why are we waiting for luggage?"

"So that we have clothes."

Chris rolled his carry-on into Lance's foot, nudging it several times, and gestured downwards. "Then what's in this?"

Lance tilted his foot up to stop Chris's bag. "Fuck. I forgot." He grabbed the handle of his own bag and started walking away.

Skipping after him gleefully, Chris opened his mouth to speak, but Lance held up a hand.

"Don't say a word. I'm tired because someone who is currently riding a sugar high wouldn't let me sleep for more than fifteen minutes at a time."

Chris grinned, unrepentant.

"Let's go. There should be a car waiting." Lance started walking again.

There was a car waiting – indicated by burly man with peppery-grey hair who was wearing a rumpled black suit and holding a sign that said 'Mr James'. Lance made a beeline straight to him.

"I'm Mr James."

The man stuck out his hand to grasp Lance's and Chris smirked at the pained expression Lance was trying not to show.

"Ah, Yanks. Glad you're not Poms – couldn't take any more gloating about the Cup. They win one championship and forget all about the rest. Pleased to meet ya, anyway. My name's David, but my mates call me Dave." He grabbed the handle of Lance's bag. "Is this all you've got? And it's just the two of ya? Right-o, let's go then. The car's just over here." Sharing a glance, Chris and Lance followed. There didn't seem to be an option.

Dave was putting Lance's bag in the trunk of a black sedan, so Chris handed his across and said, "I'm Chris."

"Ta, mate. Nice to meet ya." He slammed the trunk closed and walked around to open one of the rear doors. "In you get. Should be more comfy than the plane – bit more leg room to stretch out." Chris climbed in behind Lance and the door shut with a bang.

"Shouldn't he be a little more professional?" Lance whispered while they waited for Dave to sit in the driver's seat.

"I don't know. You hired him." Chris laughed. Lance looked sleepy and disconcerted. He reached over and, changing the direction of his hand at the last minute when Dave sunk into his seat, ruffled Lance's hair.

"Where to fellas?"

Lance sighed. "Didn't the agency tell you where to go?"

"Sure they did, but it's polite to ask isn't it? You wouldn't believe the drongos that change their minds halfway and want to do a bit of sightseeing instead. Can't just stop and turn around can I? Sydney's a big city, but it wasn't designed to be one. Roads going every direction, no logic. One way streets all over the shop. Not like Canberra. Now there's an organised city. Course, it's boring as hell and everyone gets lost anyway. All those damn roundabouts I reckon…"

Chris looked at Lance. He had his head back against the seat and his eyes closed. Chris poked him in the waist. "Don't you dare go to sleep, Bass," he whispered. "I'm not facing this alone."

"So, Chris. You just here for a holiday or is it business." Dave jerked the car into another lane and leant on the horn. "Bad time to arrive, you know. Bloody traffic's getting worse and worse."

Chris had no idea how to respond. He poked Lance again and conjured up a smile. "Vacation. It was a spur of the moment thing."

"That's nice. Wouldn't mind a holiday meself. Not that it'll happen anytime soon, what with the GST and insurance companies bleeding us dry." Chris watched as Dave started driving with one hand while adjusting the radio frequency. "What have you got planned then? Going bush or staying in the city?"

"I don't really know." Chris jabbed an elbow into Lance's side and he sat up with a start. "My friend here planned it all as a surprise."

"Kind of like one of those mystery flights, then. The 'Ball and Chain' and I did one of those a few years back. Spent the day wine tasting. Was all right, but give me a New any day."

Lance looked at Chris and he shrugged in return.

"So this is your show then…?" Dave turned around to look at Lance and Chris dug his fingers into the upholstery. "Sorry, I didn't get your name. Or did you want me to call you Mr James?"

"Alan is fine," said Lance.

"Al it is."

Chris snickered.

"So, Al. What are you blokes going to get up to while you're here?"

Chris snickered again.

"We'll probably just go to beach, see the sights, have a look at the city. We don't have much time."

"Fair enough. You might want to watch yourselves, staying where you are. There are fairies all over town; Oxford St is crawling with them. Two good looking blokes like you are going to be prime pickings."

Lance was frowning deeply, he didn't look happy.

"What do you mean, 'fairies'?" Chris asked.

"Poofters, mate. They're everywhere. It's the Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras." Dave emphasised the last five words. " Town's full of all sorts."

Chris could only imagine that the dismay on Lance's face was mirrored in his own. They were trapped in a car with a homophobe. He surreptitiously slid his leg away from where it had been resting slightly against Lance.

"Damn colourful it is," continued Dave, "but the parade is a pain in the arse. Causes chaos in town for most of the day until they close the streets. Usually I'm working, but last year I marched with me son."

Lance's jaw dropped and Chris pushed it closed.

"Right get up he was in too. If his Nan had been alive to see it she would have dropped dead on the spot." Dave negotiated a turn and Chris slid back towards Lance. "The cheeky bugger tried to dress me up, but I told him it was jeans and a t-shirt or no bloody march. No idea how those drag queens do it heels. My feet were killing me by the end and I was wearing me old work boots."

Chris and Lance sat in stunned silence. What was there to say? Lance cleared his throat. "Um, thanks for the warning, but we'll be fine."

Dave laughed suddenly. "I should have guessed. Two blokes arriving together today and staying at Potts Point –cutting it a bit fine aren't you?" He laughed again. "Well, don't mind me. My mouth runs on a bit. The family reckons I won't shut up until I'm dead."

Looking at Lance, Chris suspected that their driver had just given the surprise away. "We came to Australia for a Pride parade?" He couldn't believe it.

"No," said Lance. "It's just a coincidence." His voice dropped. "I just wanted to visit a place where not so many people would recognise us."

Chris frowned, but decided to accept Lance's explanation at face value.

"It could be fun though. Maybe we should check it out?"

"Well, since I don't know what we're doing, I can't say." The car lurched to a sudden stop and they were both jerked forwards.

"Here you go. Right at the front door. How's that for service?" Chris heard Dave pop the trunk and watched him climb out of the driver's door.

When they were free of the car and standing on the sidewalk, Dave handed them their bags. "Have fun. Enjoy the city and don't let too many nancy-boys pinch your arse."

Chris and Lance watched him pull away from the curb. Chris suspected they looked just a little shell-shocked. "Well that was an experience. Worth the 50 hour plane trip I'd say."

Lance looked at Chris and grinned. "It will be."

*

Fatigue hit in the elevator and they abandoned their bags just inside the door before stumbling to the bedroom. Lance was dangerously close to tripping over his own feet until he fell face first onto the bed. Chris crouched beside him and pulled off Lance's shoes. Then he crawled next to Lance and tugged at his shirt. "C'mon. Help a guy out."

Lance groaned, but rolled over and sat up. He undid his pants and slipped them off while Chris removed his shirt. When Lance was naked he wriggled up the bed and slid between the sheets. Chris watched him for a moment before shrugging out of his own clothes and snuggling in around the curve of Lance's back.

*

Chris woke to sunlight streaming though the curtains. Pooling on his face, it had left him hot and damp with sweat. His eyes were sticky and he rubbed at them with the back of his hand. Lance's side of the bad was empty – the only signs he had been there, a faint depression in the pillow and the lingering scent of his cologne. Chris moaned and sat up. He needed water. Throwing on the underwear and t-shirt that were lying on the floor, Chris wandered out of the bedroom in search of a drink.

Lance giggled and Chris whipped his head around ready to retaliate, but Lance wasn't even looking at him - he was out on the balcony, phone pressed to his ear. Chris crept closer and heard his name.

"So Chris will be travelling just behind me? Great. Uh huh. Fantastic." Lance was stretching with an arm over his head, a golden slice of skin visible between the bottom of his t-shirt and the top of his sweats. "And you'll meet us here, downstairs? Ok. How will I know you?"

Lance laughed again and Chris felt himself frown. Where was he travelling behind Lance? "Behind you to where?"

Lance flinched and turned around. He smiled at Chris and spoke into the phone. "I have to go. We'll see you at 5.30. Yeah. Thanks again. Bye."

"Who was that?" Chris was ninety percent sure the conversation hadn't been meant for his ears.

"Tour guide." Lance looked at Chris, a stern glint in his eyes, a hint of a smile twitching at his lips. "I have something special planned for this evening. You have to do everything I say."

"Says who?"

Lance clamped a hand over Chris's mouth. "Don't talk. I like you better that way."

Chris licked Lance's palm and when it was pulled away in disgust, said, "Bullshit. You love me when I talk." He took Lance's hand and wiped it against the t-shirt covering his chest before tangling their fingers together. "What are we doing tonight?"

"I'm beginning to think that no one ever taught you what the word 'surprise' means." Lance stepped in and slipped his free hand around to the small of Chris's back. "You're not hungry yet are you?"

Chris shook his head. "Thirsty."

"We'll take something back to the bedroom." Lance pulled Chris flush against his body. He dipped his head and licked gently at Chris's lower lip. They kissed, slow and knowing. Then Lance pulled away. "Ugh. Let's clean our teeth first." He led Chris by the hand, first to the bathroom and then to the bedroom.

*

Chris swiped at his face. Something was tickling his eye and it was driving him crazy. He swiped again and heard quiet chuckling as he did so. A feathery touch brushed across his skin once more and this time he swatted higher, catching Lance's wrist. Chris pulled, but instead of Lance across his chest, he found himself sitting. "Go away. It's too fucking early." He tried to lie down again.

Laughing, Lance forced him to stay upright – his hands cold against Chris's bed-warm skin. "It's mid-afternoon. Get up so we can start getting ready." He grabbed Chris's arm and hauled him from the bed. "Put on some clothes. I ordered food. It's outside."

The table on the balcony was covered with food. "Are we feeding a small third world country?" Chris scratched his belly and plucked a shrimp from the nearest plate.

"I couldn't decide and we might not get a chance to eat later, so I ordered a lot."

Chris sat opposite Lance and looked out at the view. "Huh. So that's the Sydney Harbour Bridge. Nice."

"Yeah. I was watching the boats before. Colours everywhere. JC would love it."

"Why isn't he here then? Maybe he wanted a vacation?"

Lance smiled. "Because he added those extra shows to replace the ones he cancelled. You knew that."

"I forgot. My aging mind has difficulty remembering the detailed itineraries of our solo stars."

"I'll order those memory enhancing vitamins tomorrow. Now eat, and then go take a shower."

Chris watched Lance pop a strawberry in his mouth and did as he was told.

The first thing Chris noticed when he came out of the bathroom was the clothes laid out on the bed. His clothes. His old, old jeans that were so worn they felt like silk and had rips near the ass, and a black t-shirt. No underwear. He looked around for his carry-on, but it was nowhere in sight.

"La-ance! Where the hell are my clothes?"

Lance popped his head around the door. "On the bed. That's all you'll need."

"These are my last resort jeans. I only wear them when there's nothing left."

"When there's nothing left here either, so you'll just have to wear them."

Chris threw the jeans at Lance and barely caught the edge of his towel as it started to slide off his hips. "I can't wear them, they're too tight. And where the hell is my underwear?"

Lance flung the jeans back at Chris. "They fit just fine and you don't need underwear."

Chris dumped the jeans on the floor and tried to push past Lance through the doorway. "I am not wearing those fucking jeans. You'd better change our plans for tonight because I'm not going anywhere until you give me some real clothes.

Taking Chris by the upper arms, Lance turned him around and gave him a gentle shove towards the bed. "OK."

"OK?" Sitting on the bed, Chris could feel his jaw flapping in the breeze.

"Yes – OK." Lance was pulling his phone from his pocket. "I'll just see if we can do the climb instead. I hear the view is amazing."

"Climb?"

"The bridge. You can go right to the top." Lance was scrolling through the numbers in his phone. "They'll probably be able to fit us in tonight if the offer's right."

"You want me to climb the Sydney Harbour Bridge?" Chris felt like his brain was about to cease functioning.

"Uh huh." Lance had apparently found the number he'd been searching for and his finger was hovering over the call button.

"Are you fucking insane?" Chris stood up, clinging to his towel. "I have a phobia, Lance. A phobia. I am not setting foot on that bridge!"

Lance shrugged. "It's either that or the jeans."

"No fucking way. There must be something else to do."

"Well, sure, but that's your only choice. The jeans or the bridge." Lance reached a hand under the towel and ran it up the back of Chris's thigh. "Besides, you look hot in those jeans."

"Fuck! Fine!" Chris stepped out of reach and picked the jeans off the floor. "I'll wear the jeans, but can't I at least have some underwear? The zip scares me."

"You'll be fine, just be careful not to damage anything. Trust me, Chris. You'll be thanking me later." With a smile, Lance picked up the small bundle he'd left by the door and disappeared into the bathroom.

Chris watched him go and swore again.

*

Gazing around, Chris tried once more to work out how he had come to be in the marshalling area of a Pride parade on the other side of the world. Lance was fucking crazy.

At 5.25pm, Lance, wearing completely normal and very loose jeans with a t-shirt, had dragged him down to the foyer. Five minutes later they had been set upon by a tall boy who bore a striking resemblance to Wade and kept calling Lance 'darling'. Wade's cousin. Lance had contacted him via Wade, via JC. Chris now had plans for both of them – slow, torturous plans involving uncomfortable clothing and public humiliation. Damien had hustled them into a convertible and driven for maybe ten minutes before declaring 'We're here' at the top of his lungs. 'Here' had turned out to be the gathering area for participants in the annual Sydney Gay and Lesbian Mardi Gras. Lance really had brought them to the other side of the world for a Pride march.

Chris turned his attention back to Lance. He was endeavouring to help Damien and a few others attach a float trailer to the convertible. How the convertible was going to pull the float, Chris didn't know. He wandered across and tapped Lance on the shoulder. Now that the initial shock had worn off, they were going to talk. "Can I have a word, please?"

Lance looked up and smiled. "Sure." He straightened and Chris dragged him aside, pushing past a thin man who had quite possibly never seen the sun until now, yet still chose to wear ass-less chaps in public.

"You wanna tell me what the fuck we're doing here?"

The smile slipped from Lance's face. "We're going to march in the parade. I thought you'd be OK with it once we got here."

Chris felt like he'd kicked a puppy. "Dude, I'm freaking out. What if someone recognises us and sells the story to a tabloid." He waved a hand between them. "I mean, the chances of anyone knowing who I am and caring is zero, but you're more recognisable. Do you want to be outed? Is that why we're here? Because if it is, we could have stayed home and had a press conference."

"Of course I don't want to be all over the papers, but I've planned everything. Not even Damien knows exactly who we are." Lance took one of Chris hands into his and stepped closer. "Chris, this is something I've wanted to do ever since I realised I was gay. To march and show that I'm proud of who I am, that we deserve equal rights. I haven't been able to do that and I thought I wouldn't ever get the chance. All the work I've put into getting us here - I had a reason."

Lance was stroking his hand and looking deep into his eyes. Suddenly, it clicked. "You fucker! Stop trying to play me. I'm here aren't I?" Chris pulled his hand away from Lance. "Devious fuck."

"And you love me for it." Lance was laughing, but he reclaimed Chris hand. "I meant what I said, Chris. This is something I really want to do, and I really want you to do it with me." He reached his other hand around Chris's waist and dropped a quick kiss to his lips. "Besides, I promised JC that you'd take pictures." Lance pulled away and ducked through the crowd, back to Damien and his friends.

Chris moved to follow, but was blocked by a person of indeterminate gender kissing his cheeks and wishing him a 'Happy Mardi Gras'. He accepted the greeting and then shouted at Lance. "Pictures of what?"

Lance didn't respond, but a voice behind him said, "Your arse in those jeans, luv."

*

One and half mind numbing hours later, Chris got his answer. He was sitting in the convertible, perched on the headrest of the back seat, with his feet on the upholstery. Damien had put him there with a 'Darling, you'll have one of the best views in the whole parade'. He still didn't know what that was. What he did know was that the float his car was towing would be carrying Indonesian drag queens – all of them in their best sequined dresses if the ones he'd met were anything to go by. He was pondering which of their old costumes could be donated for next year's parade when a piercing whistle cut through the background hum.

"We leave in 10 minutes, boys. Please be in costume, warmed up and ready to go on the beat."

Chris craned his neck to find the marching boys and their costumes and almost gave himself whiplash as he spotted Lance amongst them, stripping out of his street clothes. Lance was bent down, tugging his jeans over the boots he'd stolen from Chris. The t-shirt he'd been wearing was on the ground next to him. When the jeans were off Lance would be dressed in underwear and boots. In public.

Chris leapt from the car, heading towards Lance. He stopped short of his target. Ninety percent of what Chris could see was skin - warm, honey coloured skin that had been tanned on the best beds money could buy - and perfectly toned muscles. Lance was running his fingers along the waistband of his pants, smoothing it down. It was obvious now that they weren't underwear, but tiny cycling shorts made from a lycra stars and stripes flag. The only areas of Lance's body that weren't visible were his ass, crotch and feet. It was oddly hot.

Taking the last couple of steps, Chris asked, "Where's the camera?"

Lance grinned. "In the pocket of my jeans." He held them out to Chris who rummaged through the pockets.

"A ha." Chris snapped a couple pictures, grateful that Lance had a digital camera. "JC is going to love me forever."

"More than he'll love me for wearing this in the first place?" Lance held a bottle of oil out. "Here. Put this on me."

Chris shoved the camera in his pocket and took the bottle. "So you're marching with these guys?" He gestured at the other hundred or so men dressed in the same outfit as Lance, then began rubbing the oil over Lance's chest and shoulders.

"Yeah. Damien and Wade hooked me up."

"Teach you the steps?" Chris let his hands glide down Lance's arms until they were curled around Lance's hands.

"Uh huh."

"Maybe I won't humiliate Wade after all." He tightened his grip on Lance. "You look good. Fuckable."

"I told you it'd be worth the trip." Lance glanced at Damien, who was waving two white cowboy hats trying to get their attention. "I have to go and you should get back into place."

Chris kissed Lance, lingering more than he should. "I'll call 'C. Give him a blow by blow description." He kissed Lance again and walked back to his seat in the car.

*

"Talk to me, fucker." JC sounded short of breath and there was a loud buzzing in the background.

"Where are you, man? Clubbing?" Chris wanted to shout, but he knew from experience that it wouldn't make a difference.

"No. I just finished up the show about five minutes ago. Had to run for the phone. Only left it on because I knew you'd call. How is it?"

Chris took in the scene around him. "Fucking surreal, but kind of fun. You knew about this?"

"Yeah, man. Sorry. Lance swore me to secrecy." Chris thought JC really did sound sorry. It was unexpected. "I wanted to come. Hey! Do you have a camera? I told him I wanted pictures."

"Holding it in my other hand as we speak. I think he short circuited my brain – those short things are fucking non-existent."

"Hang on." There was a clunk as JC put the phone down, some rustling and then he came back on the line. "Sorry, I had to get out of my clothes, they were dripping. You're getting pictures?"

"Yep." Deafening music started and Chris watched as the marching boys moved forward in unison. Lance was with them, one of many with perfect bodies and hard earned rhythm.

"Who's that?"

Chris started. He'd forgotten JC was on the line. "Madonna. It's the song Lance is marching to." Chris watched as Lance stepped to the right and shook his ass. "He looks fucking amazing 'C."

JC sighed and Chris could imagine him sinking into a sofa backstage. "Describe it to me. All of it, not just Lance."

"Fuck. Um, ok." Chris looked around and then down. "I'm sitting in a convertible that's pulling a float."

"More details, man. What make and colour?" JC was difficult to hear over the music.

"Red. A new MG. I'm sitting next Mona aka Michael, who is 23, from Jakarta, likes kayaking and dressing as a woman, and Stephanie, aka Stephen, 28, from Kuta, a clerk who also likes dressing as a woman. They say hello." Chris looked straight ahead and then off to the side. "It's really crowded. There are people who've been here for hours; they even brought their own seats and food. Really fucking organised. There are kids, too. Some of them are being held up, they're waving. People are dancing along with the music. Not proper dancing, just kind of grooving on the spot like Lance."

"Tell me about the parade, the people marching?"

"Well, I can't see many of them now, just Lance's group and the guys I'm riding with, but I saw some earlier. A whole bunch of women in leather riding awesome bikes. Lots of boobs on show, man. You would have loved it. Um. There was a freakish guy wearing a leather thongs and chaps. He was so pale he glowed. Plus he was being led around by a leash attached to a collar. Some fetishes should never been seen in public."

"What else?" JC sounded settled, comfortable, and Chris wriggled in his seat.

"A few political groups – parents of gays, an AIDS foundation, some activists campaigning for gay marriage. Nice dresses – very white. Um, oh! There's a giant tampon. It's fucking disgusting. I felt like every girlfriend I'd ever had had conspired to traumatise me. It's huge." Chris shuddered.

"Gross, man. Do not tell me any more about that. Tell me about the space monkey."

Chris studied Lance as he marched steadily along the parade route. "He's shaking his ass like you would not believe. Did you see the fucking costume?" The fingers on Chris's free hand twitched into air quotes.

"No. And he wouldn't describe it either."

"He's such a fucking tease." Lance took a step forward and thrust his left hand into the air. Chris traced the planes of Lance's back with his eyes before looking over the rest of the marching boys. "There's about a hundred guys marching with Lance, all totally buff and wearing these tight little short things. The shorts have the stars and stripes on them and only cover from the hipbone down to just below the ass. That's it. The only other things they're wearing are black boots and white cowboy hats. If you pulled hard enough they'd be naked."

"Lance?"

"Yep. No shirt or jeans, just little shorts, boots and a hat. Remember that photo shoot on the beach? This is hotter."

"Fuck. Those pictures had better be good." JC hummed. "He's keeping the outfit, right?"

"He is absolutely keeping the outfit." Lance shook his ass again and a small moan escaped Chris's lips. "He's going to kill me, JC. You know that wiggle thing he does? Well, he's doing that every two steps and I have to watch it for the next," Chris checked his watch, "four hours."

"I don't know how you'll survive."

"Fuck off. It's a bizarre form of torture - he's 20 feet away, wearing next to nothing and I can't touch him." A hand went across Chris's chest to stop him falling as they came to a stop.

"Think of it as an exercise in patience."

"I don't have any patience. I ran out years ago waiting to be famous."

"Then think of what you'll be doing in four hours and twenty minutes. It's more than I'll have a chance to do." Chris strained to hear JC, his voice was softer and a little further away.

"I wish you were here too, man."

"Yeah. Look, I have to go. They wanna lock up."

"'C?"

"Yeah, dude?"

"I'll make sure the pictures are good."

"Thanks, Chris."

JC hung up and Chris looked his cell phone before shoving it into the side of his boot. The parade had moved maybe half a mile while he was talking to JC.

*

Lance was dragging Chris through the crowd, pushing them through sweat slicked, bare flesh. It was too dark, the flashing lights too erratic, for him to see what people were wearing, but he could feel the nakedness. Their skin was burning his forearms, hot and wet as it pushed the hair the wrong way. Chris felt over-dressed. The majority of participants seemed to have shed their clothes before hitting the after party and he was still in jeans and a t-shirt.

Lance stopped and Chris slammed into his back. He could almost feel the vibrations of Lance's euphoria. Four and a half hours of marching and Lance was running on pure adrenalin – he should have been exhausted, instead he wanted to dance.

"How about here?"

"Whatever." Chris swigged from the plastic cup, grateful that there was even a little beer left after the trip from the bar to the dance floor. He glanced around, then crumpled the cup and dropped it to the floor. People would be paid to clean it up later and he wasn't going to push through the crowd again just to find a trash can. A hand ran up his arm, reaching around his neck and pulling him close.

"You look so sexy in those jeans. It's been driving me crazy all night."

Chris snorted. Lance had obviously been on his feet for too long. "You've barely seen me. I, on the other hand, have been behind your tight, lycra-clad ass for hours. I had to watch it shake, grind and bounce for miles." Chris grazed Lance's ass with his fingertips, teasing gently where fabric changed to skin. "That was evil, Bass – tormenting me like that." He moved his hand to the back of Lance's thigh and pushed a discreet finger underneath the shorts. Moving in so his body was flush with Lance, Chris froze. "Uh."

"What? Don't stop now." Lance pressed into Chris.

"You don't have a third hand you've been hiding from me by any chance?"

"What? Are you all right?"

"Fine. It's just that someone has their hand on my ass." Lance pulled Chris closer. "And when I say on my ass, I mean down my pants." Chris let out an undignified squeak. "That is not my ass!" Chris turned around to confront whoever was responsible, but none of the men crowded behind him looked like they'd just molested a stranger. "Which one was it?" He hissed the question at Lance.

"I don't know." Lance looked around. "It's too crowded to tell. C'mon."

Chris followed Lance through the crowd again, their course dictated by the movement of the bodies around them. Finally, they found a place near a wall. Chris was convinced he would have bruises from all the pinches to his ass - Lance definitely would.

Lance turned Chris's back to the wall. "So, where were we?"

"In the land of cliche." Chris ducked as Lance swatted at his head. "Sorry." He pulled Lance close again and bent to lick his lips. They were soft and reassuring. Chris probed them open and lost himself in the taste of Lance's mouth, in the feel of Lance's skin.

Lance pushed Chris into the wall so he was sandwiched between silky warmth and ragged brick. Chris slid his fingers beneath the slippery fabric of Lance's pants. He brushed them towards Lance's tailbone and pulled his mouth free, panting. He slid a finger along the cleft of Lance's ass and stopped.

"What? Why did you stop this time?" Lance sounded vexed and just a little bit suspicious. Chris didn't blame him - there was the airplane bathroom incident to consider.

"Um." Chris may as well have swallowed his tongue. "Ah. The people behind you – not so much with the dancing." Chris watched as the two men in his line of sight bucked and rolled together. "A little more with the fucking." Their hands were clenched together, arms wrapped around the man in front and they were riding the beat. The man behind was trailing kisses up his partner's neck and Chris was hard. Harder. "Fuck, that is so fucking hot." He turned Lance in his arms. "Look." Lance leant back into him and soon they were moving to the same beat.

Lance rested his head against Chris's shoulder as they watched. His ass pressed against Chris's crotch, creating delicious friction with every undulation of their bodies. Chris glanced down the planes of Lance's chest, smooth and firm, the nipples stood out in tiny peaks. Lifting it from Lance's waist, Chris glided a hand across firm muscles, tracing them with fingertips until he could tweak a nipple. He squeezed the flesh gently. Lance groaned and pushed back, rocking his hips in a tiny counter-rhythm. Chris pressed himself further against the wall and pulled Lance in tightly, an arm wrapped around his waist. He focused his gaze on the couple in front of them, still moving together, and teased Lance's nipples until he felt a slight falter in Lance's rhythm. Then, palms flat on Lance's skin, he slid both hands into Lance's shorts.

Chris cupped Lance's balls with his left hand and brushed the thumb of his right over the tip of Lance's cock. Lance arched and Chris used his forearms to hold Lance in place. He swept his thumb in a circular motion, keeping the touch light. Lance was shaking, minute shudders reverberating against Chris's body. Chris looked down, his vision full of glistening skin and hands disappearing beneath the stars and stripes. He rolled Lance's balls across his palm. Lance grunted and nudged Chris's neck with his head. Chris looked up and found himself caught by the eyes of the couple they'd been watching. They smiled at him, sultry, inviting, and then resumed moving in a primal rhythm. Once again they were matching the beat. His skin tingling with arousal, Chris began to slide and twist his hand along Lance in unison with their movement.

The couple was watching Chris and Lance as Chris and Lance were watching them. When Chris sucked at Lance's neck, the action was mirrored back to him. Large hands were copying the way Chris's hands travelled over Lance's cock. Chris was aching. He wanted nothing more than to push aside his jeans and mimic their watchers exactly, but it would break the magic – destroy the rhythm and intimacy they had created. Instead, Chris contented himself with increasing the pace. Lance was whining in the back of his throat and writhing against the length of Chris's body. Chris hooked a leg around both of Lance's and braced against the wall to hold him still. Their companions shuddered as first one, then the other came. Chris increased the pressure and speed again, fighting the urge to let himself go and ride Lance's ass to satisfaction. A telltale calm in Lance's body told Chris he was close. Chris slipped a finger along the skin behind Lance's balls and maintained his rhythm. Moments later Lance was pulsing in his hand, come spilling over the back of his fingers. Chris brought his hand to his mouth and licked it clean as Lance slumped heavily against his shoulder and the couple melted away into the crowd.

The feel of Lance's body was intoxicating and Chris's nerve endings were on fire. He pushed Lance up, turning him around so he could capture Lance's lips. Chris tangled his fingers in sweat damp hair and the kiss became brutal. He wanted to bruise Lance's mouth, remind him that he was there, that they were together. Lance was limp against his chest, but he nipped and licked at Chris with equal ferocity. They kissed for what seemed to be an eternity, time warping around them. Lance pushed his hands up under Chris's t-shirt and dragged himself away from Chris's mouth.

"Fuck," he said and dropped to his knees.

Chris's head hit the wall as Lance dragged his zip down slowly - humid air cool against his skin. Drawing in a sharp breath, Chris was surprised when Lance pressed something small and hard into his hand.

"Call JC." Lance's breath huffed gently across Chris's cock.

"What?"

"Call JC." Taking the cell, Lance pushed a few buttons and handed it back to Chris. "Put it against your ear."

"Uh." Chris lost the ability to speak as Lance licked him.

"Hello? Chris?"

JC's voice was tired and fuzzy. Chris willed his mouth to move. "'C. Oh, shit." Lance had sucked the head of Chris's cock into his mouth and Chris's whole body felt electrified. "Lance. Mouth. Jesus."

"Lance is going down on you?" JC seemed more alert suddenly. "Right now? While I'm talking to you?"

Lance's tongue swirled around him and Chris nodded. "Uh huh." He whimpered. Lance had spread his jeans wide open and pushed strong hands into his hips.

"Tell me what he's doing."

Chris bucked as Lance curled a hand around the base of Chris's cock and drew it deeper into his mouth. "Can't talk," Chris ground out the words. Lance grazed his teeth down over Chris gently, then sucked hard when he pulled his mouth up again. Chris moaned.

"Chris." JC's voice was far away. "Chris." The sound of his name was low and urgent and Chris shook his head. Lance had abandoned his cock and was sucking gently at his balls. Chris's mind cleared slightly and JC's voice penetrated. "Fuck, Chris. You sound so fucking sexy panting and moaning. A melody that's your's alone. It makes me want to touch you, touch myself."

Chris found his vocal chords. "Yes."

"Yes? You want me to touch myself?"

Lance sucked Chris's balls right into his mouth, working them around his tongue, and Chris almost shouted. "Yes."

JC's voice had a smile in it. "Ok." It was quiet for a minute and Chris realised he was in hazy bubble. There was a background hum of music and conversation, but all Chris could hear was the sound of Lance's mouth against his skin and the rustle of JC's clothes. Chris's knees felt weak. He started to slump as Lance slipped his mouth down Chris's cock once again. Lance held him in place though and then JC was back.

"I'm already hard, man. Just listening to you did that to me." JC sighed and Chris echoed him.

Lance was starting to build a rhythm – down, up, and then a swirl of tongue over the tip of Chris's cock. Chris was breathing in time with Lance, gasping when he moved. JC's little huffs of breath matched his own - harmony. "'C?"

"Amazing. Listening." JC sounded short of breath, the words panted rather than spoken. "Don't speak. Feel."

Chris shut his eyes and imagined JC sprawled naked in bed, a slick hand sliding along his cock in time with Lance. His grip on the phone was limp. Lance was moving faster, not teasing any more. Sucking and licking with a purpose, it felt like Lance was trying to pull the orgasm from him. Chris listened to his moans mixing with JC's – deep, guttural sounds that were somehow soft. His muscles tensed. Lance caressed Chris's balls with one hand as he continued and heat raced through Chris's veins as he began to shake with release.

"God. Fuck." Chris slid down the wall, falling to his knees as he kept a loose hold on the cell phone. He barely heard JC's groan. Lance was wiping his mouth discreetly. Chris shifted so he was sitting with his legs spread and stretched out and pulled Lance between them. His jeans were still open, his skin sticky, but he tugged Lance against his chest anyway. Comfortable, he kissed the back of Lance's neck and spoke into the phone. "JC?"

"Yeah, man?"

Chris thought JC sounded how he felt. "We love you. We'll see you soon."

"Love you guys, too. Don't be too long coming home."

Chris smiled. "Never."

*

Sniffing, Chris twisted in his seat. A hand came down on his leg.

"Stop it. There is no stink, the air is fine. Perfectly breathable."

"I just want to make sure." Lance's grip tightened a little and Chris stopped moving.

"Do I need to send you to the bathroom again?" Lance's mouth flirted with a smirk.

"I'm not falling for that a second time you fucker, so dream on." Chris paused and had a brief internal debate before speaking again. "Lance?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you sure that was safe? What if someone did recognise us?"

Lance frowned slightly and then grinned. "Trust me, Chris. Besides, the march wasn't even televised this year."


End file.
